The Hand of Fatima
by saathiray
Summary: The year 2020. Bahija is a girl from the East with strong aspirations. As she encounters the children of the Potters and the Weasleys, she will find herself entangled in the world of dark arts and seduction. Exploration of the HP world in the future.
1. Sifr

Dark Beauty  
Sa'id 'Aql

Dark Beauty, childhood dream!  
Resistance of the stingy lips—

Do not approach me, but remain

An alluring idea for the future

When you pass, earth awakens

From its heavy slumbering dream

The tiny window of her hope

Illuminated by your gleaming smile

Dark Beauty, remain for me

The most remote of pleasures

Remain a longing on my lips

A wisp of vision in my eyes

Remain elusive, like tomorrow

To which death will beat us all

(Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this story and where it ends up going. Each chapter title is connected to the action in some way and I invite you to guess in your reviews at what the names are. If you can guess any of them correctly, I'll be happy to do you a little writing favor like take a request or something like that. Think about this poem as you read. Enjoy!)


	2. Bidaya

Ever since she was small, she had known them. Even before coming to school, she had seen them. They were the dark, brooding creatures that her mother's family raised for various uses. They were the most successful breeders, and she had grown up knowing them. Bahija bint Raza Al-Muharbi watched how fair the moon was that night along the lake's banks. From the forest there came the breath of opened flowers, and near the windowsills the candlelight was glowing. The wind was wet and cool against her exposed face and hands, the rest of her covered head-to-toe in pale blue. In a leather pouch, she had stuffed some cuts of raw meat filched from her uncle's stables. Ever since seeing them on Hogwarts' grounds, she was fascinated with approaching them.

Reaching into the pouch, she winced to find how greasy and slimy the raw cuts had become. When she squeezed one gently, she felt the juices squirt out. Extricating the slab of flesh to hold high in the wind, she ignored the stuff running down her arm. How should she attract them to her? She dumped the rest of the meat cuts on the ground, hoping that the smells would waft into the trees.

She heard the underbrush shudder and the branches shiver. It hadn't taken long at all for them to come. As in her training, she kept her breath steady and concentrated on keeping her pulse normal. They could become agitated if they smelled fear.

"Miss Al-Muharbi."

The voice shattered her concentration. Now she panicked, palms sweating and heart like a terrified bird in a cage. "Please," she whispered, holding her ground. She refused to look over her shoulder, and all she knew was that the warm, smooth baritone came from a male teacher. "They're coming."

"Then you shouldn't be out here alone." The voice drew closer.

"Please hush," she repeated, hand tightening on the meat. "Please."

Eerie whistles like the sound of thrushes met their ears. Forest debris crunched under hooves. A cloud pass over the moon, quenching the largest source of light available. Bahija held her breath, stock-still and praying for the light to come back.

The beast was close. Its breath like rotten eggs gushed in plumes against her hand. The scaly muzzle touched her arm. Then a warm tongue with coarseness of pumice lapped up the juices dripping from the meat. When she felt the initial tugs at the meat, she let go. She heard the familiar "caa-caa" of the creature gnashing soft pieces between its teeth, its breathing blocked momentarily with each bite. Then there was the methodical chewing as it tenderized the meat with its molars.

From behind the clouds, the moon reappeared. Within her reach stood the skeletal horse she had hoped to tempt out of hiding. It leathery wings were folded in repose, a cloven forefoot on the meat slab from which it tore each bite. It would lean down only long enough to take another mouthful before straightening up to chew and keep an eye on its surroundings. Back near the tree line, a cluster of herd members waited. This was a mwat hisan, as her uncle called them. It was the name she had always known them by until coming to Hogwarts where everyone called the creature a thestral.

When the thestral finished, it stared expectantly. She lifted her clean hand toward its muzzle, palm flat and open. The thestral sniffed before pressing into her touch. Her dark skin was pale against the black color of the creature. The rotten-egg breath was now mixed with the smell of raw meat, and she swallowed back bile. Keeping her hand on its muzzle, she maneuvered the two of them so that they could be parallel with the tree line.

She then looked to the other speaker. It was a teacher in professorial robes, very tall and broad shouldered. His long, thick hair was tied back, although the wind caught some of the shorter loose strands. He was still some strides away, having stopped when the thestral first came out of the forest. "Are you happy now?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"These aren't wild ones. You can touch it." She carefully stroked the top of its face, mindful to keep her fingers clear of its mouth. "I think this one is the leader."

The teacher mechanically approached with uncertainty in each step. He closed in, finally resting a hand on her shoulder. His voice was a hiss. "You need to go inside."

"Okay." Removing her hand from the thestral, she stepped sideways toward the castle. By now, a few others had shuffled closer to the pile of meats on the ground. Bahija and the teacher kept their full attention on the thestral as they took slow steps away from the forest. When they were out of charging distance, they turned and hurried back to the well-lit walkways.

"You should never do that again," snapped the teacher with clear concern, his large hand tight around her wrist. "You don't even realize just how lucky you are."

"But they are not so dangerous when you know what to do." She didn't resist as he took her inside and down an empty hall. Everyone else had gone to their respective houses by now.

His deep blue eyes glared icily. "And you think you know just what to do?"

"Yes," she replied defiantly. "My uncle breeds them. I spend every summer now at his stables. He showed me what I'm supposed to do." The thestrals haunting the forests around the school gave the foreign place a touch of familiarity. "Everyone in my family can see them. Can't you see them?"

"I can see them plenty well." He turned, leading her toward Ravenclaw's House. "One of them nearly kicked me in the face my first year teaching."

There was only one way to placate his anger. "Professor Szarka, please. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He halted, yanking her close. "That's a very weak apology, and I sincerely hope you weren't at all serious about it."

She furrowed her brow. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and like all the staff had known her since her matriculation. He had always been friendly and perhaps even a little doting, but he always showed a preference for students who demonstrated ability and a strong work ethic. What baffled her most is that whenever a student broke the rules, he was more inclined to scold them for being caught rather than actual rule-breaking. Or if he heard about someone breaking a major rule, he shrugged it off and said it should be a lesson to other students. With all the care and precaution she had taken, she didn't understand why he was so upset with her. "Why do you care what I do? Are you angry because you caught me?"

"Bahija." For the first time since they had met, he used her given name. "If anyone else had found you, you'd be in the headmistress' office this very instance and she'd be signing papers for your expulsion." With a frustrated sigh, he dropped her wrist. "I would like to not see that happen to a student with so much promise."

She covered her mouth to hide her gape. True, he showed her some fondness, but she always believed it was just the same sort of superficial fondness he had for anyone with an ounce of cunning. "Really?" she asked with her voice small and high.

"From the moment you came into my class. I still remember the first day when you asked me about the thestrals. But—" He snorted, shaking his head. "I didn't think you were stupid enough to go looking for them!"

"I already told you, I know how to treat them! Why don't you believe me?"

He threw his hands in the air. "Because the idea of a student having even the faintest idea of how to handle a thestral is unthinkable! As far as any of the teachers here are concerned, you know as much about handling a thestral as a muggle."

She stamped her foot, balling up her fists. "I know what to do, and I'll prove it to you no matter what it takes."

He snatched up her hand once more. "Don't even think about going back out there."

She wanted to shriek at him for being so obstinate but bit back the urge. "Fine," she spat through gritted teeth. "If you don't believe me, look up Mirza Nashirah. He is my uncle, and he breeds them for racing." She let her pride get the best of her and added, "If you are from Turkey like you say that you are then you would know his name."

Recognition and vexation came over his feature at the name. "Who is your mother?"

It wasn't often that she was confronted by that question. Most people only cared about who her father was, and they could get that simply from her full name. She hesitated at first. "Noor. She was Noor Nashirah. Now she's Al-Muharbi."

His frown indicated that he hadn't gotten the information he wanted. "I know Nashirah." He was much gentler when he let go of her this time. "What's the first thing you were ever told when handling these creatures?"

"Move like honey pouring out of a jar." This was one of many little maxims her uncle would tell her. He had a way of crafting good advice into small catchphrases any child could comprehend and appreciate. It was like poetry.

He understood her meaning after a few moments. "What else."

"Feed with one hand and pet with the other." The smell of food to a thestral was so arousing that even the friendliest could easily try scraping the meat off a person's bones with its tongue if there were traces of food on the hand. She had also been taught that she could never go to the stables while menstruating, but she didn't feel it proper to announce this fact.

"Hm." He stroked his clean-shaven chin. "I must admit that I'm impressed," he said quietly. "Perhaps I had mistaken experience for foolishness." Glancing over at the nearest painting, he scowled at the people who had gathered to watch them in the pastoral scene. The figures quickly scattered out of sight. "You still cannot go there ever again without a professor." He leaned against a blank part of the wall. "Why would you go in the first place and risk expulsion?"

She lowered her eyes. "I wanted to see if I had the same gift as my uncle." Mirza Nashirah was the only successful breeder and trainer in the subcontinent. Unlike normal horses, the thestral could not be broken quickly in large groups because they were carnivorous. Mirza was like a horse whisperer for the species. What she didn't realize yet is that his "gift" had come from years of painstaking study and experience. "They're so beautiful. My uncle told me about them all my life. I was so happy when I could finally see them."

"When did you first see them?" The halls were quiet. Not even the house ghosts were about, perhaps having gone elsewhere in the castle to amuse each other. Many of the figures in the paintings had fallen into some mimicked sleep. It was as if the entire school grounds had fallen under a deep slumber brought on by eating lotuses.

"Five years ago." She pursed her lips with a frown. "I was in Riyadh with my family. We had chosen to stop there after our hajj to Mecca. We went to Deera Square." She paused in thought. "My father knew there was going to be an execution. I still don't know why he took me." The incident was so easy to talk about now, and she regarded it as a necessary part of growing up. "I think the man was a murderer. They beheaded him with a sword. The spray from his body was like mud kicked up by horses. I cried afterwards, but that was only because I was scared. I started seeing them the next week." Her father's family never quite knew how to handle her magical abilities. She wondered if this had been his way of finding a place for her in the greater family scheme.

"I saw my first one as a teen." He straightened up. "Well, fourth-year coursework covers care and handling of thestrals. I suppose that if you asked me, I could accompany you to the Forest the next time the urge overcomes you."

"You, you would do that for me?"

"It's better than any chance of your expulsion." For the first time, he cracked a smile. "I also like to watch them."

"You won't tell the headmistress about what happened tonight, will you?"

He shook his head, gesturing for her to follow him. They weren't too far from her proper house. "A student with so much ability and potential deserves a second chance. But don't think I'll be so generous if I catch you again."

She nodded, so grateful that she couldn't help bowing slightly. "I promise not to break those rules again."

"Now run along to your room before someone else catches you." He waved his hand dismissively.

"You're not going with in case I run off again?"

He smirked wryly. "You know better. Get to bed." But just to be safe, he watched her until she had disappeared. He was the only person in the halls now, and he meandered in the general direction of his residence. This girl was nothing like any other student he had encountered. The way she handled herself with the thestral was chilling. In her, he saw a raw energy. Someone that brave would certainly strike fear into the hearts of those who crossed her. Professor Kudret Szarka looked back, trying to visualize her receding into the darkness. There was something dark and compelling within this girl. He resolved to tease it out by whatever means possible.


End file.
